“Oh—thank you.” Lucimia’s smile curved like a crescent, her nod light as dew trembling on a leaf. “Sorry to bother you again—where’s this merchant ship from? Another part of the Empire, or a different country?” Her voice drifted like silk over still water.

“Uh? That… I don’t know, sorry.” The woman shook her head, a willow in a small wind.

“It’s fine. You’ve told me enough, and I’m grateful.” Warmth rose in Lucimia like steam from a cup of tea.

The woman returned a soft smile, sunlight over a lane. “Mm. Then goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Lucimia’s word slipped out like a breeze through reeds.

She turned back to the ship, her gaze a thrown stone rippling the harbor. The captain fears disease, yet he went out to eat? Did hunger win over fear like fire licking dry straw? Or does he carry a way to keep plague at bay, like a lantern warding off moths?

She scanned the pier, eyes skimming like swallows. Between deck and quay stood a board-bridge, a narrow spine of wood from shore to ship.

Resolve tightened in her chest like a knotted rope. She ran up the planks, feet pattering like rain, and reached the open deck—only to be blocked by a uniformed crewman.

“Hey, hey, hey—why’d you just hop aboard? What if you’re carrying something and it jumps to our ship?” The short, stout sailor hefted a stick, shooing her like a farmer shooing hens.

“I just want to ask the captain if he’ll take me. I can pay. And I’m not sick…” Her certainty flickered, a lantern guttering in wind. “Well. Probably.”

She hadn’t confirmed whether her affliction had Devoured Dori’s disease or came from that blood-red worm’s stare—two shadows crossing like crows.

“Want aboard?” The stout sailor eyed her up and down, gaze a slow brush over ice. A very pretty girl—cool glow, a rare frost among flowers, strangely captivating. But she wasn’t tall, looked young, so he hesitated. “You… a kid, right? Got money?”

“Yes.” Lucimia kept her hand closed, her coin quiet as buried stone.

The sailor thought for a while, gears turning like wet mills. “I don’t get to decide. I’ll go inside and tell the captain, see if he agrees.”

“Okay.” Lucimia dipped her chin, a swallow’s nod.

“Don’t sneak in!”

“…”

So she stood on the gangplank, a reed on a narrow ridge, and waited. Minutes stretched thin like dusk mist. Then three, maybe four people came out of the hold.

At the front strode a burly, bearded man in a fancy uniform—the swell of his shoulders like a cliff. Captain, no doubt. Behind him trailed three figures. One was the stout sailor from before. Of the other two, one wore a deep-blue mage robe—the hue of clear wells at noon.

Lucimia recognized the cut at a glance. Purification Church. Classic azure, a banner of calm seas.

That Purification… well, let’s call her a Purification mage. Tall, with curves like river bends, and young—spring fastened in silk.

The other man wore a tea-brown shirt. His face was gloomy, eyes flat as dead fish drifting under murky water. His gaze slid over Lucimia, cold rain on stone.

At that lineup, Lucimia’s pulse shrank like a startled bird. The Purification mage was the thorn. If the Church had posted her name, would this woman strike without a word? The thought tugged her heels toward flight, but the trio had already reached the plank’s mouth.

The Purification mage glanced at Lucimia twice, calm as a lake, then let it go.

…Maybe I overthought it. Her tension eased, ice melting in dawn light. She scratched her hair, fingers raking like comb-teeth through black silk.

“Hello. You’re the one who wants to pay to ride?” The captain’s voice rumbled low and rough, like gravel under tide. Lucimia had to listen close, ear a cupped shell.

“Yes. How much?” She kept her tone polite, a soft lantern glow.

“Heh-heh.” The captain smiled and lifted one finger, a mast against sky.

“One silver?”

“No—one gold.”

What?! One gold slammed into her like a wave against a pier. Why not just rob people in daylight?

Most folk can’t save a gold in a year. They scrape by on a few silvers a month, and after food there’s only copper dust.

Seeing her frown pinch tighter, the captain chuckled, warm as a brazier. “It’s not usually this pricey. But we’re in a time of plague. Lots of people want out, and spots are limited. One gold’s already cheap. Plus, if you board, these two behind me can clear your potential hazards. That’s a cost too, right? On board, water’s free. Food—bring your own or buy.”

Her brow knitted harder, threads drawing like night vines. Those two can clear potential hazards? So the captain avoids infection because of them? What can that Purification mage do?

Looks like he trusts a god, not witch powder. The thought settled like incense.

She somewhat understood Purification mages. But that man… what could he do?

As if reading her ripple of doubt, the captain began introductions, words bright as painted signs. “This beautiful lady, Joanna, is with the Purification Church. She carries a Blessing and can Purify mental troubles, so the crew won’t crack during long voyages. Also a sixth-tier mage—she can stand against sea monsters or pirates.”

“The other is Hart, a Plague Knight of the Bannubi Empire. Don’t let the pallor fool you—he can isolate plague, keeping others from being infected. There’s a limit on how many he can shield. Both are hired.”

Hired. The word lit up in Lucimia’s mind, a spark under paper. No wonder the Purification mage didn’t react to her—she likely hadn’t heard what happened in the Town of Tranquility. News in this world moves like ox-carts, not arrows.

The other man shocked her too—made her look twice. This pale, drained figure, like someone squeezed of life, was a Plague Knight? A follower of the Plague God? He looked more like he’d caught something, a candle about to gutter.

“So? One gold. Can you pay? If not, please go. We don’t haggle.” The captain’s gaze pressed like a thumb on wax.

Lucimia thought for five seconds, time a handful of sand, then nodded. She drew two gold coins from her Storage Ring, light flashing like fish scales, and said, “I’ll need something like a ticket. Two of them.”

“No problem.” The captain signaled, fingers flicking like gulls. A sailor ran to the hold and, after a moment, brought back two wooden plaques. He handed them to Lucimia, the wood warm as sun-baked deck.

“These are your tickets. I carved numbers with my own magic—they can’t be faked. Not counting today, we leave in four days. Got it?”

“Got it.” Lucimia touched the two tags, nodding like a reed in wind. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What question?” The captain’s eyes narrowed, a tide pulling back.

“Do you know a boy in town who loves to snatch things and runs very fast?”

Before the captain spoke, the gloomy man, Hart, stepped forward. His voice cut in cold as a winter blade. “What do you want with him?”

“Mm?” Lucimia narrowed her eyes, lids like drawn fans. His tone bit like frost. Not friendly.

She weighed her words, breath a slow drum. “He robbed me.”

“Then it’s basically gone.” Hart’s reply fell flat as rain on slate. “He’s too fast. No one catches him. And finding him’s tough—no one knows when he’ll show up.”

After she answered, his voice shed its ice and went lazy, like a cat in sun. Lucimia caught the shift, a fish’s flicker under clear water.

Does he… know? But he was hired from elsewhere in the Empire, right? He shouldn’t know. The doubt trailed her like a thin shadow.

“Mm. I see. Thanks.” Lucimia dipped a goodbye and left, steps light as sparrows.

Back in the square, she stood amid stone and sun, a lone pine in an open yard. She decided to give the other ticket to Desty. Whether she leaves will be her choice. Lucimia’s done enough—kindness laid like rice on a table.

She tucked the tickets into her Storage Ring, wood whispering against gold, and set her mind on the next step.

“Hmm… that man’s tone when he asked me felt off.” Her voice drifted like smoke. “Is there really some tie there?”